Constellations
by TeamOctober
Summary: Donovan and Moira Grey are not to be trusted... but it all Wickedly connects in the end. Prequel to 'Falling Star' and back story to Donovan.
1. Chapter 1

_**Part One: Wonderland**_

There was blood everywhere. The woman on the bed screamed as though someone was stabbing her, killing her slowly. Sweat and tears made her forehead look slimy as a garden slug. Moira didn't know how her mother could stomach this for a living. Just a few drops made her stomach clench and head feel woozy. She hated blood. "Get me more clean water from the stream," her mother had ordered an hour earlier. "More clean sheets," was the next command. Wipe her brow. Hold her hand. Only a couple minutes more.

The woman had come waddling in after her water had broken while fixing super. The father was busy working the fields alongside Moira's. She remembered the large woman, struggling to walk, collapsing at the door. Her deathly pale face. Fear in her eyes. It was not uncommon for women to die giving birth. This was fact everyone knew well. But no one had died in the hands of Beatrice O'Malley. Only three had died in the hands of her mother before her, two in the hands of her mother before that, and so on and so forth. Someday it would be her turn. The young woman here would not die today. It was going to be a girl. Her hair would be brown and eyes blue. She would be healthy. Moira could feel it.

Moira watched with gruesome curiosity as her mother helped deliver the baby. The way she calmed down the woman, kept her breathing controlled. How she wiped away the sweat and blood. How she helped the woman carefully drink tea that soothed the contractions. Someday it would be her turn to help care for people. To be there when they were born and there for when they died and all the messy bits in the middle. Life was a very messy thing.

Finally the baby was born. Screaming, trying to learn how to take its first breaths. She was handed to Moira. Go clean her up. The fear of dropping or breaking the fragile creature in her hands terrified her. Supporting its head, she gently washed the new born with a wet rag. Her blues eyes were startled by the wet object, staring at Moira's green ones with a painful expression. The baby continued to cry, wailing for its mother. Helplessly not knowing what to do, she tried rocking it and patting its back. "Just pipe down why don'cha," Moira grumbled in a whisper, both frustrated and not wanting to make the baby cry anymore. The baby stopped on command as a warm feeling spread from Moira's fingers to the baby she was holding. It was a lot cuter when it wasn't screaming its head off.

Eventually her mother called for Moira to come back into the room with her and the woman. "She's so beautiful," the new mother sighed exhausted. The baby smiled as it was cradled to its mother's chest. "I'm going to let you two sleep. Call if you need anything," Moira's mother said before walking to the back room. She signaled Moira to follow her as she washed her hands. "Ya' did good fur'ya furst time," her mother complimented. "I wanted to puke. There was so much blood!" Moira's eleven-year old eyes widened with doubt. Her mother kissed her cheek and began dividing Moira's long, blonde hair into sections as she began to braid it. Moira always knew her mother was stressed when she braided her hair. The idea of doing something with her hands soothed her. "Well, life is a bloody, messy thing. It always ha'been for our family. Always will be," her mother huffed. "But why Momma?" she felt younger as her mother carefully braided her hair. "Because our family is special."

"How are we special?" Moira asked. "We're stronger t'most, deep down," her other pointed to Moira's heart, "We ha'a certain know-how," she pointed to Moira's forehead, "An'we all we got." Her mother hugged her close, kissing her. "I want to show you something," her mother quickly checked to see if their guest, or now guests, were awake. Once it was safe, she picked up a small pebble in her hand as well as a slightly larger one. She placed the small her one in Moira's palm while holding the larger one in hers. "Me thinks y'old 'nough t'learn about what it means t'be a Grey witch. Was a wee girl m'self when my mother taught my sister and I," her mother beamed proudly. Grey had been her maiden name. The 'witch' part confused her. Witches were these ugly, old things that ate children who went into the woods alone. Ghost stories told to keep children in line. Her mother had been called a 'witch' before by many of the towns people, but often her mother would exchange swears with the person and go on her merry way. Witches didn't exist. Her mother was too kind and pretty to be one. Seeing her daughter's confused face, she focused on the stone. Feeling its weight, imagining it weightless and floating. And so it did.

Moira couldn't believe it. Her mother only smiled warmly, "Now you try."

Moira had grown up catching glances of the many scars that lined the pale, smooth skin of her mother. She did her best to hide them from her daughter, but occasionally Beatrice found her daughter staring at them curiously. There were three white lines about seven centimetres long on her right cheek, just below her eye. Her left palm had many think, clean cuts as if they had been done with a knife. Her shoulders and back seemed to be covered in vine like scars, weaving through the flesh. On her mother's right hip was a burned-in black mark of star.

Her mother was a very stern woman at times, with frown lines carving out her face. They had carved their way from a hard life and scowling in the face of adversity. When Moira was younger, she use to climb on her mother's lap and try to smooth the lines out with her toddler hands. Softly kissing away bad memories. Then her mother would tell her about her life in Ireland before she married Moira's father.

"I wa'born here y'know? Same room as many o'our family. Same as you. But I w'sent as a very young gal to live w'me grandmother and cousins. T'was a bunch'o witch hunters running t'streets har in Loxwood. My mother wanted to keep me safe. Learnt t'be a Grey witch from my grandmother. Margie and I were t'only gals. Raised like a boy. Fought like one too. When t'was for me to marry, I sailed back here and took ov'the shop," Her mother would say with misty eyes. Things had been difficult growing up for her. Many of the villagers said she was 'rough', 'feisty', and 'angry as a raging bull'. Her mother just smiled and said she was Irish.

The shop had always been dusty. It didn't matter what she did, dusting, sweeping, or washing. It had been owned for centuries by their family. It had seen better days as well as terrible tragedies. Much like her family. But none the less Momma had ordered her to clean the front of their humble family shop. Moira was smart enough to know the real reason. A large, disheveled woman in a brown cloak had just come storming in, red faced with scowl marks. "Bessy, we have a problem!" was all she said. In response her mother had hushed the stranger, offered a cup of black tea and a seat in the back room. "Not in front of the girl, Margret," was all she said before closing the door. The stranger had an unpleasant air to her. Momma had been teaching her how to understand the world around her and the people in it. If they were kind? If they were ill-tempered? If they were in pain? If they could be trusted? This woman was bossy and mean. But something had frightened her. Something that was scaring Momma too. But she had called her mother 'Bessy'. Her mother's name was Beatrice.

Moira knew she shouldn't have ease-dropped. She would be caught since her mother always knew best. Her ear quickly found its way to the rotting wooden door. "This is what you get for leaving me to run the coven all by my savvy self! I knew mum wanted you to lead, you always were better at magic than me. It's a sorry shame y'gave it up. And for what? Love? Such foolishness from a foolish girl!" the red faced woman nagged. "I gave it up not just for him, but for Moira," her mother argued, "Too many of us have gotten nothing but plagues o'trouble from mess'n about to early. By God Margaret, I only just started teaching her a month'go. The girl ain't ready t'all for any of this!" Moira could imagine her mother rubbing her face with frustration. "The coven needs more o'us. She turns twelve in what? Four months? Already the vampires are going through us one by one. They think we can help'em. We are witches not miracle workers!"

Beatrice wanted what was best for her daughter. Her sister wanted their family to be stronger. It would be safer to stay away from the danger. Remain a secret between just Moira and her. "I'll think 'bout it. But no promises."

That night her mother taught her how to light a candle by waving her hand over it. She didn't know Moira had been listening to their conversation. Her father came home late into the evening, hugging his wife, whispering something in her ear that made the stress melt away. They kissed, which Moira didn't mind. She loved seeing them happy together. More often than not they would be screaming and throwing things at each other late into the night when they thought Moira had already gone to sleep. Momma told her she wasn't allowed to tell Father about their lessons. About how Moira could make things float with her mind. How she could turn water into ice. How to make flowers sprout on command. How she could light candles now. Her family was special, but it wasn't perfect. It held secrets.

 _Moira was trapped inside a cupboard. It smelled of mold, dust and dying wood. Through the tiny light crack, she saw her mother screaming at three people who were all extremely pale and beautiful. A medium sized man with brown hair, a taller man with choppy blonde hair and a small young woman who had pale hair down to her waist. "Stop this. Just leave her and the girl alone. Please!" the pale woman begged. Moira liked her. The brown haired man ignored her laughing. "You tricked us!" he bellowed, seething as he told the blonde male, "Do what you want with her." Moira watched helplessly from her cage as the blonde male gripped her mother by her throat._

Moira felt someone grabbing her, shaking her. "It's just a dream. It's okay. You're okay," the voice said calmly. It was just a dream. Once more awake she saw that the blankets were tangled everywhere. She was covered in sweat and tears. Her mother hugged her close. It was just a dream.

Her days were now filled with lessons on how to be a good witch. Bare foot and hand-in-hand they would voyage into the dark forest that lined their village. Occasionally her mother would sneak an old leather bound book in cloth, tucking it into a wicker basket as if they were going on a picnic. They needed to keep their powers a secret from the rest of the world. Secrecy was their friend. The woods were still deemed haunted and few people made it past the initial shadows. And if they were so bold as to venture further, they often got lost and wandered helplessly. Moira never got lost. Making their way to their usual spot, where her mother yesterday taught her how to make it rain for a minute or so, she smiled noticing the usual landmarks.

First there was Lovers' Rock, a giant stone that had a red mark in the shape of a heart that looked like it was bleeding sweet crimson. The legend was that there once was a young couple and the husband left to fight in a war and ended up dying or selling his soul to the devil, but it didn't really matter since the story changes each time. One night the wife was called by the husband's presence and met him at Lover's Rock and they soon disappeared forever. Some say he killed her while others say they eloped to Paris. Second was the JAD tree. It was a large hemlock tree with the carving J, A, and D on it. The lines were crude as if young children who had stolen their father's hunting knife had carved it. The marks were centuries old. The bark around it had decayed and faded with age, but somehow the carvings stayed there. Finally there was the Weeping River. Occasionally you could hear a woman weeping, _My babies, My babies, My babies are dead._ There was an old ghost story of a woman who abandoned her children and came home years later to find they had been killed. She could be seen wandering aimlessly, crying for her dead children in an old white dress, ripped from the cruelty of the forest. Mother's would tell their children, "Don't go into the woods, or the Woman in White would steal you away and eat you." It guided them to where she and her mother normally sat, pouring over spells and incantations. There were scorch marks in the grass from a lesson involving candles going awry. Mud puddles from yesterday's rainstorm. A frozen mouse from learning how to paralyze things. This was her classroom.

"Ok so wha'ave ya' learned so far, girlie," her mother quizzed her. "All witches have green eyes. You can only be a witch through birth and it is passed down to the next living descendant. As long as a witch uses a certain quota of magic, we do not age. But we are not immortal. Anything else can kill us. Most covens are led by women, which is befuddling for humans. Especially men. Our family's lineage can be traced to even before stone hedge which was built by Celtic druids. Through the millennia we have been hunted by humans and vampires alike. Many vampires want us for power or kill us out of fear of us potentially being a threat, like humans," Moira recited proudly. She had learned a lot in the last month. "And how to do stop being a witch?" Her mother asked rhetorically. "Death is the only thing. If you are bitten by a vampire, which counts as death, and you no longer are considered a witch. You can stop using your powers, but then you age and then die," Moira remembered. Her mother chose to limit the amount of magic she used when she met Moira's father because she wanted to grow old with him and live a somewhat normal life. It was an honorable gesture out of love.

The bell on the shop door rang as one of the most beautiful women Moira had ever seen entered. "Sorry, we are closed, miss," Moira said politely since it was nearly midnight. The woman was a similar height and build to her mother with smooth ivory skin against the black cloak and torn white lace gown. The hood was pulled over just enough so Moira couldn't see her eyes, but she saw the carefully sculpted nose, blushless cheeks, and ruby red lips. The mistress' hair was a pale, platinum blonde color and reached to her hips. "Jane?" the woman asked tilting her head to the side, almost confused and in a dream. Her mother, hearing Moira speak, hustled into the room. "It's been a long time, Lila. I trust your mate has no knowledge of your presence here. We have much to discuss," her mother quickly locked the door and closed the drapes. The gorgeous woman made her way to one of their chairs, sitting down slowly and crossing her legs with such an elegance it was if her feet never touched the ground. "Yes, Avi is too busy with a red-herring errand. It really has been too long since I have been in this shop," the strange woman's voice almost sang. Everything about her enchanted Moira.

Slowly the woman removed her hood and cloak. Her eyes were glowing red embers. Moira gasped when she realized the woman was a vampire. Not only that. She had a striking resemblance to the woman in her nightmare. Lila smiled at Moira, "Well aren't you just the prettiest thing?" Moira blushed, tempted to hide behind her mother out of bashfulness. Instead she struck up the same grit her mother had in her eyes. She was a witch now. She needed to be strong like her mother. "Lila," her mother warned, "I would like to know how close your coven is to my family. I need to know if we should run or not."

The vampiress laughed a cold, beautiful laugh. "You won't out run my husband. He is certain you have the cure. And he has a bad habit of not stopping until he gets what he wants. I came here to see if you had it. I hoped that way you and your daughter would be spared," Lila scoffed. "Your coven has killed too many of us! Why save us two?" Her mother almost growled in anger. The drapes had caught fire in her outburst and Moira quickly did a mini-rain spell to put them out. "Because you have always been kind to me, Bess. You make me feel like I am still a witch in a way. That and I really have taken a liking to your daughter just now," Lila raised an eye brow at Moira who was putting out the fire. "We don't have the cure! There never has been a cure. You vampires are all insane. Just leave my family and coven in peace and I will leave yours as such," her mother threatened.

The vampiress stood up, put on her cloak as rolled her eyes, "Don't say I never warned you. I know you are lying." She showed herself to the door. "Goodbye, Jane," she cooed as stared at Moira with this sorrowful look in her eyes. Then she was gone.

"Momma, why did the vampire keep calling me Jane?" Moira asked as they made their way for another lesson. Her mother sighed, obviously not wanting to tell her. "Because she is old, sad, and crazy. Lila had once been a witch. She had three kids, two twins who were also witches and a little boy who was human. One of the twin's names was Jane and you two must look very similar. When Lila and her husband became vampires, they left to protect their children since they couldn't control their thirst. They came back home to find that the twins had been burned at the stake," her mother recalled, "Which might just happen to you if you're not careful, girlie." Her mother found a way to make everything into a lesson now.

The continued with levitation since Moira was still struggling to lift anything heavier than a piece of firewood and for longer than ten seconds. Focus. Breathe. Be one. It was working slowly. She watched the boulder shake, hovering above the ground by a couple centimetres. Gesturing with her hands, it rose higher and higher. Elation filled her as it rose as well as this dizziness. She felt light as a feather as she lifted the stone with her mind. She had never lifted something this heavy before. She knew she would be exhausted after, but enjoyed the joy of magic for now.

"Moira, stop," her mother whispered snapping her out of her daughter's daze, her voice now scared, "We are not alone." Two vampires emerged from the woods. The brunette and blonde males she had seen from her nightmare. Her first vision. They had tried to fight, but soon the brown haired male had his cold hand around Moira's throat. If her mother tried anything, he would crush it before a spell had time to take effect. "Come with us," was all the brown haired vampire said.

The vampires had them walk for several hours before they got impatient and picked them up to run. It was thrilling and frightening how swiftly they moved, almost flying through the dark forest. Each step they grew farther and farther away from home and safety. Eventually they came to an empty cabin deep in the woods of an unknown territory. Neither had been this far north. "We don't have the cure," was all her mother spit out angrily as the blonde threw her on the ground. "Lies!" the darker haired male slapped her hard across the face. Her mouther gritted her teeth and took the blow as she felt the bones break in her cheek, while Moira gasped at the sudden violence. "Please don't hurt us," she pleaded, tears down her face. "We won't hurt you, little girl. If you make a cure," the brunette smirked and knelt down, brushing a cold hand through her hair gently before tugging it at the end. Her mother, crossed her arms gruffly, "Why would you want a cure vampirism? You seem to enjoy the power that comes from being a vampire?" The brunette chuckled darkly, "Details, details. We just need enough for five. Then we will send you and your baby girl on your merry way." Her mother, strong and stony, spit the blood out from her mouth that had accumulated from the punch. "Fine, I will make a cure. If you swear to let us go and not harm my daughter," her mother shook hands with the dark haired demon.

The vampires had been surprisingly hospitable. Once the brunette's anger had subsided, Moira realized he was rather young and handsome. His wavy mahogany hair, smooth hairless face, wide curious red eyes, thin smiling lips and small build made him seem no older than his mid-twenties. He often adorned a strange maroon top hat with a raven's feather tucking into the silk band. He often let her try it on and wear it. If her mother asked for something, an ingredient for the cure, food, an extra blanket, or even a doll for Moira, he would bring it readily. The only thing that scared her was how she could never hear him coming up from behind her. She would only know of his presence when she felt his cold, thin finger brush through her golden hair. "You remind me of someone I loved," he would say smiling lost in thought as she sat at the small table in the cottage as her mother worked furiously. He would tell her stories of when he was human, when he had been a French soldier, as he made her food and occasionally sipped her tea.

"I was the youngest of thirteen boys. The smallest and weakest by far, which made mean easy target for being picked on. Technically I had eleven brothers, but I consider my father as one of those boys. He gave everything to my elder brothers, and only laughed at me. A scrawny boy who couldn't even hold a sword. He would encourage his sons to fight amongst each other for food, to make us stronger he would say. I wished to be nothing like him, but unfortunately I inherited his foul temper. I ran away from home to join the army when I was nine, hoping to please him so I would no longer be his petit lâche. His little coward. I did fine for a boy so young. Being the youngest had taught me one thing. How to fight for yourself and get what you want. Although I was never on the front lines, I worked as a messenger for many years before working my way to the status of a soldier. When I was nineteen, I was sent to England to work as a guard in Loxwood, where you are from. I got very lost and was aided by the beautiful young maiden who later became my wife. She blessed me with three beautiful children, who I miss every day. Unfortunately I rarely saw them since I was often called away to fight. This all stopped when I was caught in a battle late at night and was fatally wounded. Stabbed several times in the chest, left bleeding in a field. But then a dark savior by the name of Frederick found me. He made me stronger than I ever imagined. This creature you see before you. I soon learned I had a rare ability. I could control and influence dreams. I was a wild vampire in my early months. The only thoughts that kept me in control were thoughts of my awaiting family. I needed to be tame again in order to ever see them. My creator taught me how to control the thirst, saying he would help me turn them so we could be together forever. I practiced stopping while feeding on several soldiers left dying. That's how I turned my best friend Captain Henri March, who has stayed by my side ever since. I have turned a couple others over the last couple hundred years. A son of a baron who wanted his son to be king and hoped being a vampire would give him this power. Unfortunately he fled and had been in hiding ever since. At least he ended up being a tracker. A son of a priest who claimed to be a vampire and witch hunter who was giving us trouble. That we did just to spite him. I heard he hated himself so much for becoming a vampire he nearly starved himself to death before breaking down and pitifully hunting animals. When I was sure I could bite my family without killing them, I voyaged back home and found them in the woods. My eldest two, Jane Marie and Alexander, were nearly seven and climbing trees as happy as could be with their baby brother watching, round cheeked. They came running at the sound of my voice, although barely recognizing me. When my wife saw me, she was frightened by what I was and took my children away from me. But that night I slipped into her dreams and convinced her to meet me alone. I turned her hastily and she hated me for several years. We couldn't be near them since both of us struggled with controlling our thirst and feared killing them on accident. I wanted to turn my children, but she warned me of the dangers of turning our children while they were still young. We agreed to take them with us when they were adults. When we returned to Loxwood on our youngest eighteenth birthday, we learned our eldest two had been murdered and our only remaining child was now happily married with a trade and two children. My wife begged me to let him remain human, and I obliged. We watched over him as he later had grandchildren and great-grandchildren and even great-great-grandchildren. Even through all these years, I sit next to my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter. My greatest regret in life was how we could never save the twins and be a whole family again."

His eyes were sad and genuine. Surly this creature could not be all evil. He had had a family once. But his friend, the blonde male, scared her. He often watched her mother as she sped around, mixing herbs, whispering chants to herself, writing down notes. His eyes hungry, licking his lips whenever she bent down to grab things that had fallen to the floor. She had told him numerous times to give her more space and to stop his flirtatious purrs. She was happily married to Moira's father and hated how this thing seemed to be undressing her with his glowing eyes, "I will miss you when you go, mon trésor. Perhaps you can stay and teach my heart to beat again." She would slap his stone hand away as he groped her rear-end, teasingly kissing her neck. He would stop when the brunette snarled at him. "We promised not to harm them, Henri," he would remind the younger vampire. "But she is so pretty, Avi," he would beg. "Sexual assault counts as harm. Not to mention you are distracting her from work," the brunette would snap. Each day both grew more and more impatient. The brunette would hover, watching her every movements in anticipation. A cat watching a mouse while swishing its tail.

The vampire did keep his promise. He was careful not to hurt them and did his best to make sure they were comfortable. He let her mother continue her lessons with Moira. He watched interested and helped to keep Henri March from interrupting. Moira was doing surprisingly well. "It's the fear ye' felling," her mother told her, "Getting ye' a'worked up and ready." It was true. Moira was scared. Although the brunette had been kind to them, she still remembered him hitting her mother and the fact that they were prisoners. She could lift all the furniture in the small house, make the pond next to the house freeze with a single breath, light all the candles in the house by snapping her fingers, make small dust clouds with puffs of wind by rubbing her hands, and make shapes and figures appear in the small cooking fire. She would stare at the humble blaze as horses galloped and flowers blossomed. When she wasn't practicing her magic, the brunette, who now told her to call him "Avi", taught her French. "You might just be the most educated woman in these woods," he beamed as she recited verb tenses. He was happy to learn she already knew her letters and a bit of arithmetic. If only she was his daughter…

Over a month had passed. "Is it finished yet?" Avi asked for the third time that day. "No, Avremarus. I need the light of a full moon bottled up for exactly thirteen nights," her mother panted as she mixed an odd mixture.

"How about now?" he asked after that had been collected. "No, I need the tears of an ocean," she replied as she smashed more herbs.

"Momma, when will it be finished? I really want to go home and see father," Moira asked as the curled up to go to sleep. "Soon, m' darling. Soon. Be strong," she whispered as they fell asleep. 'Be strong' was what she whispered several times a day. She was sick of being strong. Father must be worried sick about them and where they might be. They had been missing for such a long time. Each day her mother had told both her and Avi that it would be done soon. That it was almost ready. Moira then had a sudden revelation. There was no cure. Her mother had been just doing busy work, tricking their captors. "Is there a cure?" Moira whispered softly. Her mother looked around to see Avi was posted outside, guarding the door to make sure they didn't try to escape. Henri March was 'Hunting', whatever that meant. Her mother shook her head sadly, mouthing "I'm sorry" with sadness in her frown creased eyes. She hugged her baby girl to her chest. Beatrice knew the vampires would kill them both when they learned of her deceit. It was all her fault. She had been stalling for weeks now, hoping to buy some time as her family, other witches, came and tried to save them. She had done several spells contacting them, letting them know they were in danger and where the cabin was. There had been no responses. Even her sister Margaret had left them.

The next day Avi demanded to know when the cure would be done. "I have been up and down the British Isle searching for the strangest things that I don't even think exist, getting you everything your black heart desires, and waiting day after day. When will it be done?" he growled impatient. "Just a couple more days," her mother huffed. "You have three days to come up with a cure before I search for someone else," Avi said plainly, leaving his threat open ended.

Her mother broke down crying. Moira had never seen her mother cry. She had always been fearless and brave. Facing every struggle that came her way with a stiff lip and unnerved eyes. Her mother had claw marks on her face from battling a bear. She had fought off pirates on her voyage from her home in Ireland to England. She had seen the most helpless of people come crawling into her shop, begging for aid and offered the softest of touch. Now she lay on the floor, face in her hands sobbing uncontrollably. They were going to die. Kneeling down, Moira wiped away her mother's tears saying, "Be Strong, Momma." She wasn't even twelve yet and she knew what they had to do.

Flipping through the Grimiore she found a curse that they could do easily within their time restraints. Silently, she showed it to her mother. Her mother looked at her shocked, then smiled at her daughter for showing some spunk. This plan might just work. The two of them worked around the clock trying to prep the curse. They had to make the final product seem like the cure and convince their captors to take it. They had to be strong.

They were interrupted on the final day by a third vampire barging through the door. It was the beautiful vampiress Moira had met in there shop. "You promised not to harm them," she snarled at Avi. "I did. See how they are obviously in pools of their own blood with broken bones begging for death," he sarcastically gestured to the two witches who were pouring themselves cups of tea while nibbling on pieces of toast, "Plus they promised to help, mon amour. The cure will be ready today. We will finally be human." He kissed his mate in joy.

"Hello Jane," Lila called as she gave her a tight, cold hug. Moira was still confused. This vampire needed to stop calling her 'Jane'. It wasn't her name and it was starting to scare her. Both she and Avi were insane. Maybe that was why they were somehow mates? Her mother was right. Vampires were crazy.

Her mother asked the three of them to step outside. The last ingredient could possibly be toxic to vampires and she didn't want to harm her hosts. Moira was confused. This wasn't part of the plan. They vampires blindly trusted the witch. "Get inside the cupboard," her mother ordered. Moira didn't know what was happening. "Just do it," she ordered again. Moira nodded and curled up inside the cupboard. "I love you not matter what. Be strong," she mother hugged her and kissed her forehead before shutting the door. It smelled of mold, dust and dying wood. Whispering a spell, the door magically locked. Moira, panicked and started to try and open the door. It wouldn't budge.

"It's ready," her mother called. They came running inside. "I only had time to make one," she said apologizing. "That's okay. If it works, you can make more," Avi smiled, now kind. With shaking hands, she brought a stone bowl with a thick red liquid in it. "You must dump it over your face. Then you might feel a slight burning feeling on your skin and eyes," her mother instructed as she handed the bowl to Avremarus. Unable to wait another second, he lifted the bowl and poured it over him, eyes open and waiting for mortality.

The bowl shattered on the floor as Avi screamed in agony. The liquid burned as if he had submerged his head in Hell itself. He clawed at the liquid trying to clear it from his face. His eyes felt like they were white hot coals, they hurt so much. Opening them, trying to purge them with water, he realized he couldn't see. He was blind. "You bitch!" he screamed, splashing cold water on him. The pain was so intense. He turned ready to kill Beatrice as his wife grabbed him. "Stop this. Just leave her and the girl alone. Please!" Lila begged. Moira hoped she could stop Avi. She was watching her vision play out just like her nightmare and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Moira cried and screamed as she banged on the door. The vampires did not seem to notice, it was as if she didn't exist.

Avi ignored his mate. His rage had turned to maniacal laughter. "You tricked us!" he bellowed, seething as he told Henry, "Do what you want with her. Just make sure she suffered." Lila protested, begging both to calm down and be reasonable. They could fix this. Give them a second chance. She and her mate, stumbled out of the cottage into the woods. Avi, although now blind, was angrier than he had ever been in his life. Once both had left, Moira watched helplessly from her cage as the blonde male gripped her mother by her throat. "You are still quite pretty, witch. If my boss wants me to kill you, then he won't mind if I enjoy your company. It would be a shame to waste you after all," Henri smiled a crooked smile as he roughly kissed Beatrice on the lips. She screamed into the kiss. Keeping a hand on her neck, he carried her to the table where Moira had learned French and made paper flowers with Avi just a week ago. With greedy cold hands, he pushed her skirt up to her mid thighs, kissing the newly found skin. Her mother fought back, kicking and hitting. The vampire mocked her protests as he hit her head against the table. She had to fight from blacking out from the blow, her vision now grainy and hearing echoed as she lay barely conscious on the table. Her vision was too blurry to see the vampire unbuckle his trouser and slide them partially off. "Oh I'm going to enjoy this Bessy," he hissed in her ear before kissing her neck seductively. Moira was too young to understand what the man was going to do to her mother. The cupboard was too low to see what was happening. A sick feeling in her stomach told her to look away and that she didn't want to see what was happening. Her mother screamed in pain as the man forcefully entered her, pressing against her body. "I love it when they fight," he panted as he thrust deeper and deeper. All Moira could hear was the sound of skin against skin and the occasional grunt from Henri. Maybe her mother was hurting him? Maybe she would fight back? Moira did not know what rape was.

Finally she heard the man moan loudly as he collapsed on top of her mother, completely spent. "Well that was fun," he joked as he re-adjusted his pants. The cabin fell silent except for Moira and her mother's sobs. When Avi and Lila returned, Lila gasped at the sight of her almost unconscious friend, "You sick animal!" Avi could not see what had happened, but he could smell it. "You are disgusting. I said to torture her, not rape her," Avi seethed, rubbing his face in frustration. Even he had boundaries he wouldn't cross. Rape was one of them. Henri smugly smiled, "Well maybe you could have been clearer on your instructions." Avi's anger had calmed with the help of his wife. The pain was gone and all that remained was his blindness. She had convinced him to let her try again. Lila ran to the body of her friend and helped her to the bed, tending to wound on her head from being smashed on to the table.

The next day Avi explained the new rules for the two witches. They would have three months to come up with some sort of cure or they would be dinner. Her mother limped, terrified of Henri after that night. They spent the next week sifting through every book they could find, hoping to find a cure. But on the third day, something startling happened. Beatrice woke up suddenly, about to throw up. She stumbled outside, emptying her guts. She threw up several more times that day. The rest of the week followed. On the eighth day Moira found her mother hugging her stomach, feeling her lower abdomen. Pure horror filled her face. "What's wrong, Momma?" Moira asked. Her mother had felt this way before. It was too familiar. The last time she felt like this, she had been ill for months. Nine to be exact.

"I'm pregnant," her mother choked out venomously, "With a vampire's spawn."

They ran to tell Lila, hoping she could help. The vampiress felt the witch's stomach. "Are you sure you weren't pregnant before? You must be at least two if not three months along." This was impossible. Vampires could not conceive children. This child would be half-vampire, half-witch. "Avi, something's wrong. Your oaf of a friend impregnated Bess. That's why she is really sick," Lila told him. Avi's eyes went wide with surprise. This was not counted for. They watched Beatrice as her health declined each day. Moira was often left forcing her to eat, helping her lay down, and other things to help care for her mother. Avi feared she would not be able to make the cure.

One night, when all three of the vampires had left to go hunt, they tried to escape. It was desperate and rushed, but soon they heard voices. "Moira! Beatrice!" men called searching for them. One of them was her father. "Father, we're here! Momma needs help!" Moira called as he rode up to them. He stopped when he saw his wife's bulging, pregnant belly. The rest of the men rode up to where the three were standing. "She's pregnant," one of them gasped. He knew it wasn't his child. Perhaps they had run away in the shame of his wife's wicked act of adultery. He told Moira to come with him, to leave his cheating wife. Moira shook her head. Someone needed to stay with her mother. "You are dead to me," he spat at her disgusted. The men left them, calling Beatrice a "whore" and "slut". The vampires heard the noise and found them broken. After minor chastising, they were brought back to the cottage.

By the second week, she was too frail to get out of bed and spent most of the day sleeping. Their attempt at running away had exhausted her more than she realized. The creature inside her slowly sapped away her strength. "Maybe we could feed her blood," Henri suggested. Beatrice found the strength to spit on him. Drinking blood would require killing an innocent life. That she was not ready to have on her conscience.

"Are you going to die?" Moira asked as she got her mother a new blanket. She had been shivering uncontrollably. She now looked seven months pregnant, even though she had only been pregnant for nearly three weeks. She didn't have an answer for her daughter. "It's going to be a boy," her daughter whispered hoping the news would cheer her up. She didn't know how she knew that, she just did. She remembered helping her mother deliver the baby girl, the night she had learned she was a witch. She knew it was going to be a girl then. She pictured the creature growing in her mother's belly having blonde hair like hers. But she always hoped she could envision her mother holding the baby. Every vision, she always saw just her holding it. No matter how hard she tried, her mother was never in those visions.

"It's okay, Jane," Lila cooed as she braided Moira's hair. The couple's obsession with her hair and the resemblance with their dead daughter still scared her. But it seemed to be the main reason they were so gentle with her. Moira wondered if her new baby brother looked like one of their sons, if he too would be treated the same way. She twistedly hoped so. The couple had told her they could hear the baby's heartbeat, which astounded them. Would the creature be more vampire or more witch? They both had wished to have more children after them becoming vampires, but sadly could not. Lila told her friend she would help take care of the baby and Moira if she didn't live through the pregnancy. Which motivated them to helping Moira take care of Bess. Moira had always wanted to help people bet better, just like her strong mother. Not like this.

They had entered the fourth week and her mother looked ready to burst. Her belly was painfully full. "You'd think she was having twins," Henri joked giving his cohorts false hope. The vampires had left to hunt, now trusting them not to run since Beatrice could barely more laying down. "Moira, come here I want to you to do something for me," she mother struggled to speak. "Anything," Moira said. Her mother gestured to her stocking to where she kept a small dagger for different rituals. Moira grasped the cold metal object in her hand.

"I want you to slit this Thing's throat when it's born. Promise me."


	2. Chapter 2: Northern Scotland 1694

Her mother's screams woke her the next night. The sheets were damp and wet. The baby was coming. Moira tried to remember what her mother had taught her the last time she had help deliver a baby. She got her mother a damp rage to wipe away her tears and sweat. Her mother was soon coughing up blood, crying. The vampires had left when they smelled the blood in fear of killing Moira, Beatrice, and now the baby. Her promise to her mother still rang in her ears. To kill the baby once it was born. To be strong. But now her mother was dying in labor. Her skin looked grey and she had lost an unhealthy amount of weight in the last month. Moira knew she wouldn't live through this, but still fought to keep her mother alive.

"Take this, please," her mother clawed for the stone pendant that always hung around her neck. Moira use to play with it when she was young. It was a brown stone in the shape of a Celtic knot with an emerald in the centre. She took it from her dying mother, putting it around her. Energy flowed through her as she wore it. "I give you my magic. I don't need it anymore. You are the greatest magic and miracle in my life. I love you," her mother whispered slowly losing the strength to speak.

Moira watched her mother's stomach move as the baby shifted. It pressed against the dry skin of her belly, searching for a way out. The thing was a demon like its father, probably with black claws and glowing red eyes. Teeth like a wolf's. Nothing human running through its veins. Only a disgusting, ugly monster. The thing killing her mother.

Blood seeped through her mother's white night gown, blossoming. The thing was clawing through her stomach, fighting to get out. Using the knife, Moira cut away the fabric. "You. Need. To. Cut. It. Out. Of. Me," her mother panted between her wails. With a shaky hand, she pressed the knife to her mother's belly. Be strong. The knife slid through, slicing away the weak flesh. Moira could now see a small, unclawed hand. There was blood everywhere, making her stomach twist. She turned away throwing up before returning to remove the parasite inside her mother.

The baby was beautiful as she held the knife to its throat. Soft, blonde hair that reminded her of a baby duck. Round rosy cheeks and smooth pale skin. But the baby's eyes caught her attention. They were her mother's eyes, green and warm. His eyes met hers and were filled with love and wonder. She couldn't kill it. This thing was too innocent. The dagger fell from her hand. "Do it," her mother croaked, "be strong." Setting the baby down so her mother could see it, Moira prayed her mother would change her mind. "I can't, Momma," she shook her head, hugging the baby close to her chest. Her mother looked at her with fury in her eyes. Her last words were, "I told you to be strong and you chose to be weak. You have failed me." The light and warmth left her eyes as she died, disappointed in her only child and abandoned by her husband. The baby started to cry when Moira broke down, begging for her mother to come back, that she was sorry, just come back. "Momma, please," she cried in anguish. Her mother only looked at her with cold, dead eyes before Moira wiped her face and found the strength to close her eyes. She covered the body with a sheet. All that was left of her mother was an empty husk.

The pendant around her neck was now cold and heavy. In frustration she kicked one of the chairs that accompanied the small table. She threw the books on the counter across the room, screaming. She felt herself shatter all the windows, clenching her fists. The coals, faintly glowing in the fire place exploded in flames. Wind tore freely through the cabin, ripping off cabinet doors and blowing sheets of paper everywhere as Moira screamed and screamed. Angry at herself. Angry at her captors. Angry at the world. But somehow she was not angry at the baby boy who lay helplessly next to her dead mother. He started to whimper hungrily. She cradled the baby in a blanket as she sorted through the mess, trying to find something for it to eat. She had no idea what babies ate except milk, but that was an impossibility since her mother was dead and Moira was too young. She hadn't even had her first bleeding. The baby boy still smiled at her, happy and safe in her arms. She noticed he had, small pearly white teeth sticking from his wee little gums. Maybe when her captors came back they could get him something to eat.

"Ouch", she yelped. The baby had bit her shoulder lightly as she rested its large head on her shoulder. She pulled it away as it cried hungrily. Moira waited to feel the burning sensation of transforming into the creatures she now despised greatly. The cut prickled, but felt like a normal wound. The baby was starving and wouldn't stop crying. "Fine, just this once as long as y'don't kill me," Moira warned the newborn shaking a finger at it. The baby stopped, somehow understanding her. She lifted the baby back to her shoulder as she felt him slowly place his mouth on the cut. The baby was gentle as it slowly sucked at her shoulder. It didn't want to hurt her, which amazed Moira. When it was full, he pulled away from her with blood on his lips as he smiled almost thanking her. The cut healed quickly as the baby nestled in her arms. "Y'know, ya'ain't as bad as I thought y'was going t'be," she commented laughing at the infant as it started to fall asleep with droopy eyes. The baby looked a lot like her and her mother. It was her baby brother after all.

The vampires returned with more food as well as a poor human girl. Moira watched the girl as Henri dragged her by her throat, kicking and screaming. It woke the sleeping baby on her shoulder. "For t'love of all that is holy, I just got'm to fall 'sleep! Could'cha be any louder?" Moira screamed at Henri one hand on her hip, the other holding the baby. Both Lila and Avi started laughing at the small girl yelling at the older vampire like she was his mother. "You are pretty bold to be speaking to me like that in such a manner," Henri growled, holding a hand up hinting a threat to hit her. "I j'watched my Momma die after a month of takin' care o'er. I ha'been abducted for four months by filthy demons who may or may not kill me. And I am this close to taking a knife and slitting my own throat," she held up her fingers only a centimetre apart, "I j'don't fawking care about yer wee little feelings."

Henri backed up a couple steps. With every word she spoke, rubble from her previous melt down flew through the air as the vampires struggled to dodge it. The small girl in front of them, holding a new born baby, might just destroy the house if things did not calm down. Once her rant was finished, the cabin was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The silence was interrupted by the sounds of the girl begging to be let go. "We brought food for both you and the baby," Lila gestured to both the loaf of bread and the girl. "He doesn't need blood. I already fed'm. What I really need right now is help moving my mother so she can have a proper burial since I am too scrawy to do it meself," Moira ordered. When did she get so brave, ordering vampires around? Oddly they seemed to listen as they set they cleared the nearly demolished table and set the food down. Henri told the girl to sit and if she thought of running, he would break her legs. Avi and Lila help lift the mattress that the body was resting on. Moira found the Grimoire and flipped to the page where it had the funeral rites. She forced the tears to stay inside her eyes as she read the page.

Avi had dug a grave for her a couple minutes' walk from the cottage. It was in a clearing that was a perfect circle surrounded by thin trees with white bark. The grass was a rich vibrant green. Keeping her breathing even, she watched her mother as she was lowered down. Lila offered to hold the baby as Moira did the rites, but Moira only held him closer. Soon it was over. The grave was filled in and the only remaining familiar thing in her dark world was gone forever. In the dirt, Moira wrote _Beatrice Grey, Be Strong._

It started to rain and everyone went inside. Moira was surprised how sad both Avi and Lila looked, like they were genuinely sorry she had died. Moira sat numb and tired from not sleeping and sorrow as she idling bounced the baby in her lap. He was the one thing holding her together somehow. "You said the baby already ate?" Lila asked. Moira nodded, showing the small scab on her shoulder. "And you don't feel the burning feeling from turning?" Avi asked curious. Moira shook her head, "He only took a little bit." All the vampires seemed curious about this child. He seemed human, except for his pale skin, blood-drinking, and alertness. The baby seemed more aware of what was going on, watching people moving, listening to voices. What also perplexed them were his green eyes. He wasn't just half vampire, he was half-witch. "May I hold him?" Lila held her hands out. "No," Moira barked, turning away from her. This continued through the night. There wasn't a mattress anymore, but Moira made a make-shift bed on the floor. She offered to make one for the girl, who only responded with shaking her head with terror filled eyes. "I'm not gonna hurt'cha. I'm in the same boat as'ya. Been'er for months," Moira tried to reassure her. "You are one of them! A daughter of demons. They told me you were their daughter!" she gasped out. Moira tried to explain that she was a witch, not a demon, but the girl only panicked more. That yes they might be treating her and calling her their daughter, but they were insane. She wasn't going to hurt her, only help. If she hadn't spoken up about feeding the boy, then she might be dead. The girl still slept on the opposite side of the room.

Moira woke to Lila trying to take the baby out of her arms. She only hugged the boy closer. "Jane, I just want to hold him. He looks just like Daniel, except the eyes," she cooed. The baby hugged Moira closer, hiding its small face in her chest as she slept on her side. The rosy sunlight of dawn woke her each morning. She still had not figured out a name for the baby yet. She got up to eat a small breakfast, before turning to the Grimiore. She needed to keep practicing magic. Avi watched her, saying that he would let her live if she committed to learning magic and also worked to find a cure. Plus whenever they tried to take the baby out of her arms, it would start crying and would not stop until Moira was holding him again. Occasionally she would set him down on the table, as she read through spell books. He was now a week old and looked about six months old. The rapid growth was a shocking surprise. He could sit up on his own and often spent his days watching Moira study. The human girl stayed, but remained frightened of her, especially when Moira practiced magic. Later she learned the girl's name was Maude. The girl would serve as a source of food for the baby. There had been too many times when Moira fed the baby where she felt light headed and almost collapsed. Avi didn't want anything to distract her from practicing magic.

Life without her mother was frightening. Now without her present, Lila seemed to be more and more out of touch with reality. Whenever they both left her sight for a little while, either to visit their mother's grave or to explore the woods with their new found freedom, she would run up to them when they returned. "Where's Alec?" she would ask nervous, "We need to find him. The townspeople are talking they want to hurt us." Her ruby eyes would flick around nervously. "I don't know," Moira would answer confused. "We need to find Alexander," she would order her panic growing. "He's not here," Moira would snap back. Occasionally Lila would death grip her arms leaving bruises and stare at her with a ripe look of fear, chilling every drop of blood in her. Shaking her so hard her neck would hurt for days. "Where is Alec?" she would cry over and over. "I don't know. I don't know," Moira would beg, tears streaming down her face. Eventually Avi would realize his mate's hysteria and he would pry her off the small bewildered girl. "It's okay. I'll go find him," he would reassure her, calming her down. They never would find him. Her son was dead.

A month went by without naming the baby. They just referred to it as "The Boy". The Boy kept Moira's company, since Maude often hid from her. He soon started speaking by copying her sounds. He reminded her of a parrot. "I ha'to study," she would tell him as she sat him down. "-dy," he would copy. "It's dinner time," she would say as she fed him small pieces of bread. "Time," he would smile. He seemed to eat anything she fed him, both human food and blood. "Want to go outside?" she offered, needing to get out of the stuffy cabin. "Outside, outside!" he would cheer. Every day she would walk to the clearing in the woods with the Boy in her arms until he seemed old enough to walk. He now looked about a year old and she often felt his small hand grasp hers, trying to stand and walk with her. Once he was old enough to walk, he followed her everywhere like a baby duck. "Careful, I think the boy thinks you're his mother," Henri March teased. Henri ignored the Boy not wanting anything to do with it and would just look at the thing with disgust. And so the Boy wanted nothing to do with him. He didn't even fully understand that Mr. March was his father. The Boy didn't even understand the situation he was born into. He didn't understand that Moira was being held captive. That his mother died giving birth to him. That they were in danger. He just felt safe and happy by Moira's side.

Maude warmed up to Moira. "So you really aren't going to hurt me?" she asked. "Do I look like I'm gonna hurt'cha?" Moira laughed. The girl was older than her, probably sixteen or so. She had messy brown hair and eyes of a grazing cow. She towered over Moira in height and had newly developed curves that made her rather appealing. But she had lost weight from being the Boy's blood sack and the stress of being held captive. Maude laughed. The blonde girl in front of her was quite small and thin. She just seemed scary when she was practicing witchcraft and probably other satanic things. "They really aren't your parents?" she asked. Moira shook her head, explaining the story of their real children, her real mother, how she came to be here, and her little brother. Maude explained how she was a servant girl for the local Thane, how she had been dragged from the estate by these strangers in the middle of the night. "You know where we are?" Moira gasped. "Yeah, the northern reaches of Scotland. "'Bout half a day's ride until the sea. Even less to the closest town. An hour walk I reckon," Maude shrugged, "Where do you think the leeches have been sneaking off to every night or so?"

The boy soon looked like a toddler, waddling around and soon running. He had lots of energy and was always bouncing around. He started constructing fuller sentences. "You read to me?" he would ask Moira each night. Avi had brought her a collection of fairy tales and fables. She soon realized that the more she cooperated, the nicer her captors were. Experimenting, she started calling Lila "Mother" and Avi "Father". She was rewarded with a new dress and fresh fruit, a luxury. The more she treated them like her parents and accepted her phantom name of "Jane", the easier her life was. But it soon became habit and eventually reality. She found herself thinking about how her father had left them alone in the woods, not letting them explain. How Avi, no matter how much he promised punishment, only showed her kindness reading to her, teaching her, and bringing her gifts. Things her real father never did. Lila would braid her hair the same way her mother use to, humming and singing to her. Even the boy would sometimes call her "Jane". "No my name is Moira. Moira", she would repeat. He would look between her and the happy vampire couple confused before returning to singing to himself or climbing trees or watching Moira study.

Avi's vision never returned and all he saw was darkness. He spent his days trying to readjust to living without his eyes. Often Lila or Moira had to help lead him around. Moira felt guilty since it was her idea, but she would remind herself that her mother was dead because of them. He deserved it. But then again it was really Henri who she wished vengeance on. He began watching her with the same hungry eyes he use to stare at her mother with. "Like an unblemished lamb," he would sigh as he licked his lips like a lazy house cat. She was careful to never be alone with him. More importantly, she made sure the boy was not alone with him. One time Moira fell deeply asleep after spending hours practicing magic, she was woken up by the sound of her brother whimpering and begging Henri to stop doing something. Opening her eyes, she watched as Henri held the boy close to the fire. "Stop, those are mine," the boy begged. Henri was burning the Boy's toy soldiers one by one. They were a gift from Avi. "I'm your real father. Not him. I decide what you can and cannot play with. You are mine, you little shit," Henri held the boy, crushing him, forcing him to watch as he burned the wooden figures. Moira jumped up, "That's enough." She ran to the fire and salvaged as many figures as she could. The boy held out his arms wanting Moira to take him away from this mean man who was hurting him. The vampires was grasping him so hard it was leaving dark bruises and crushing his lungs. Teasingly, he let him go but quickly held his wrist. The boy tugged at it. "Just let him go already. Or I'll tell Avi," Moira threatened. Henri laughed at her, "Avi can't undo this." The vampire crushed the boy's wrist, breaking it. He screamed in shock when he felt the bones crunch. Tears free flowed down his face. Satisfied, Henri let him go. The boy ran into Moira's arms. She tried to calm him down, cradling the broken wrist. Flipping through the Grimiore, she found a charm for healing bones. "Hold still. It will be over soon," she cooed as she began the spell. The boy screeched as the bones reset themselves, healing instantly. There was a side note for a herb to take to ease the pain, which she found amongst the supplies Lila and Avi had brought her. Using another spell, she tried her best to fix her little brother's toys. She was only able to save two. After that night, she slept with one eye open.

Soon Moira's twelfth birthday rolled around and passed unnoticed. It was re-celebrated September 23, which had been Jane Marie and Alexander's birthday. She played along, smiling. Her new mother had gotten her a set of trousers. This confused her. Women were not allowed to wear trousers. It was immodest and inappropriate to show the shape of a woman's legs. Lila argued they were more practical and easier to move in. This proved true the next time she tried climbing trees with her little brother. Climbing was the one thing both seemed very skilled at. The boy's balance was extraordinary as he would perch himself on one of the branches, watching her smiling this fox-like mischievous smile. Other times he would dart in and out of the bushes, exploring the world around him. "Where are you, little fox?" Moira would call, wanting to keep him in her sight. It was a nice distraction from the situation she was in. The boy had slowly began to understand what was happening. He would now hide himself from Mr. March, often hugging Moira's legs or hiding in the bushes.

Every day they would walk to the clearing where their mother was buried. Avi soon started trusting them to walk alone, since they had been so "well behaved". It was the only thing keeping Moira sane and in touch with reality. Here she was Moira Grey. Perched on top of a tree branch, he would flash his wicked grin.

Moira would sigh shaking her head, "We're all mad here."

"And it's okay," her little fox would respond. Their new mantra since Be Strong had been over used and proven ineffective. Strength didn't save them, but rather accepting the madness in their life.

Moira grew stronger and stronger each day. Her abilities had soared and was soon able to do even the most complicated of spells. Avi once brought her a dead bird and she was able to bring it back to life. She could make whatever weather she wished. She could even make it rain frogs and locusts. Moira learned how to magically change her appearance, making her hair purple, her eyes brown, a few years older, a couple inches taller, and skin dark as an Arabian princess. Moira could have easily became a whole new person and end this 'Jane' madness. But she always reverted back to herself in fear of completely losing 'Moira'. Soon she was writing and creating her own spells, something most witches did not master until they were fully grown. This pleased Avi the most. Maybe she could create a cure? She wrote a spell for turning animals into other creatures. She had turned a mouse into a furious bear only to finally turn it into a deer. She also began to have more visions. Most included her and the boy. One was them trapped at sea on a ship caught in a storm. Another was her surrounded by her mother's family in Ireland. One was of Maude dying, which later came true. Henri March killed her in front of his son, saying that, "He was a vampire and should start acting like it. Not some stupid witch." Moira was sad to lose her friend, but she had paved over her own heart the day her mother died. Death had no power over her. Maybe she was wicked? Maybe she had more in common with these vampires than the humans she thought she belonged with? But the dreams that scared her were visions of Henri hurting her and the boy as Avi stood by. She knew she and the boy would need to leave soon. They couldn't stay here forever.

She soon began devising a way for them to escape. They couldn't run to the next town, for that was the first place they would look. She did convince Lila to walk with them to town as a day trip. The boy now looked five years old and soon Avi would start to teach him his numbers and letters. Her little fox grasped her hand tightly as they walked to the market and explored the streets. She learned the name of the town and tried her best to memorize a map of where they were located. They couldn't escape back to Loxwood. That would be the first place they would look. She still had family in Ireland and hopefully they would protect them. She had a general idea how to get there. Once they returned home, she had an idea of what they needed to do.

The air had soon become warm. She and her brother spent some nights sleeping on a quilt under the stars. Moira remembered the townspeople murmuring and old wives tale that if you slept under a full moon, it would drive you insane. A lunatic. _Well, we are all mad here_ , Moira laughed as she watched Lila help her Fox catch fireflies in the tall grass. Avi proved to still be a skilled musician through his blindness as he played a happy tune on an old violin. Occasionally he would put it down and kiss his wife's hand before spinning her under the infinite stars. They would dance, humming old childhood songs, laughing and smiling. They never seemed to quarrel, as opposed to how her parents did. For a moment everything would be perfect. It would be her own wonderland.

 _Hush little angel, hear the ravens crow_

 _Say goodbye to childhood and dreams you've known_

 _If it should whisper as a haunted ghost_

 _Leave your soul open and a welcome host_

 _Hush little angel, the fires burn bright_

 _Flames crawl across your skin and kiss goodnight_

 _The darkness was safer and cradled you_

 _Hid you from demons and thorny crowns too_

 _Hush little angel, it is over now_

 _The blood has dried and ash cooled_

 _The stake stands empty_

 _Hush little angel, hear the rooster crow_

This was the song Lila sang to her children every night, warning them. She couldn't lose them. If the priest found out what they were, he would kill them. She had to warn them of the danger before it was too late.

Lila watched and sang to herself as her daughter sketched in the dirt a strange symbol. Wincing, the girl sliced her palm open, using her blood to retrace the design. She was so proud of Jane for how strong she was and smart. She watched as Jane took an apple and threw it on the ground, where the circle-like symbol was. It disappeared on contact with the ground. Moira walked inside the house and found the apple on the table. Smiling, she took a bite. Lila clapped amazed. "Jane, that was amazing," she hugged her daughter tight. "Thank you, Mother," Jane gushed back. Jane stopped, letting her go. Something made her stop. Outside a rock was floating in the air. She then remembered she had left the Boy outside alone. "Look," he laughed. As he raised his hand, rock floated higher as he beamed, "I'm just like Moira." The boy had witch powers.

He spent his days making his toy soldiers move with his mind. Sometimes he would grab dried leaves off the forest floor and they would start glowing red hot before bursting in to flames and ash. It was a game to him. Henri was only disgusted. Her little fox would be running through the under growth barefoot, refusing to ever wear shoes. One day he had caught a bunny. Out of curiosity, he tried sinking his sharp teeth in its neck, tasting the rabbit's blood. It didn't taste as good as human blood, but it was tolerable. Moira praised him greatly, hoping to encourage him to hunt animals instead of humans. Soon he was catching larger game such as badgers and smaller deer. This only angered Henri more at his son's weakness. "What did I tell you about being an actual vampire, not a witch? You are nothing but a sick freak, just like the little twat," he sneered as he pushed his son on the ground. Moira would often step in, shielding her little brother. Her selflessness was met with violence, sometimes from being strangled, other times thrown against the wall and kicked. Soon he copied his sister's habit of taking blows for the other. "I don't care if he's my daddy. I won't let him hurt you," his small voice would whisper to her as they curled up to fall asleep. Moira smiled at her brother's bravery. It wasn't his fault he was in this mess.

Time seemed to blend together. Moira had ceased to age and was frozen with her family due to her constant use of magic. With her little fox's unusual growth, she could have very well been here for years. Trapped in this land of Wonder. Celebrating unbirthdays, wearing Avi's oddly colorful top hat as he spun her in many, many dizzy circles, her brother's mischievous grin as he hung hidden in tree branches, how occasionally she would slip and call Henri 'March Hare' for whatever reason, laughing and singing while drinking from empty teacups with a merry air, Lila floating like a white queen. And above all the madness. It was her refuge. She was no longer the disappointment of her mother, but rather the much-loved daughter of Avi and Lila. She very much liked muchness. Avi had brought her a new dress, robins blue with a white lace apron and stockings. "You bought the wrong colour," his mate complained. "My Jane is not suited to wear blue. It is too sad and quiet of a colour. A more passionate red suits her." Avi then reminded her that he was blind and would have bought a red dress had been able to see the color red. Or anything but the dark Mist that seemed to cloud him. This was all dissipated when he presented her with a rich, red cloak. The red hood dangerously contrasted against her truly wicked eyes.

Over endless pots of empty tea he would tell her tales of his travels as a nomad before he and his mate began searching for a cure. He had dined with and on kings, seen the most wondrous snow capped mountains, braved the scorching rays of the most heartless deserts, climbed the tallest towers and even traveled to the Americas. The world was an endless fairytale. "Someday, you too will see the world. Go on many adventures," he would sigh, "Perhaps you will find trials and sorrows, but I do hope one day you find peace and happiness." She would dream of traveling far, far away from Henri March in a ship that flew through the air like a bird. Avi at the helm, her Fox hanging from the crows nests, Lila guiding them as she charted the stars, and even herself arms out stretched over the bow of the great ship, flying free. These were happy dreams. _Come away with me,_ his voice would eerily echo in her dreams. 

Avi and Lila left one night, saying they needed to hunt. They had already exhausted the hunting grounds in the nearby villages and towns. They couldn't have people noticing so many disappearances. "Promise not to hurt them," Avi warned. "I won't, sir," Henri March smiled coldly. "Be a good girl, Jane," Lila kissed her forehead. "I will, Momma," Moira hugged her back. They were the worst people in the world to have for kidnappers. Just a little crazy and confused and slightly obsessive. But deep down both were kind and good people.

Henri had returned from hunting as they left, this time he held a woman who looked like a prostitute with revealing clothing and overly dramatic make up. "I want you to kill her, feed from her," Henri told the Boy. The boy just shook his head. He didn't want to hurt the human. Moira told him hurting people was wrong, especially if they were innocent. "Drink," Henri grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck and pressed his mouth to where her jugular was. The boy fought him, kicking and squirming. "No," the boy argued. He didn't want to do it. Without thinking, he made the sleeve of his father's shirt catch on fire with his mind. Just like a piece of paper. Frantically, he tried to put the fire out as the flames ate away at his frozen flesh. His entire left hand and part of his forearm was gone when we was finally able to put out the fire. "How dare you!" he bellowed grabbing the boy by the throat, strangling him. Livid, he threw the Boy against the wall so hard his body broke through it. Moira ran outside to find the Boy in a bloody heap, unconscious. The monster was not done with them yet. But Moira had all that they needed.

She used her brother's blood that was dripping from his forehead to redraw the design in the dirt. She tore off her mother's necklace and focused on it as she began to chant the spell she had just written. She cradled her bleeding brother in her skirt. She hoped the spell would work. Moira had never used it before on living creatures before, let alone two. It was now or never. Hugging her brother, she jumped into the circle feeling it ripple around her as if breaking the surface of a still pond as Henri's fingers barely brushed her skin as they fell down, down, down the rabbit hole.

Falling. They were surrounded in darkness endlessly for what seemed like hours. Falling. Her little fox still did not wake up. Falling. Her dress was now stained in blood. Finally, she felt her shoulder and ribs crunch as they crashed on to a grass field. She saw lights flicker inside an old house. "Somebody get help," a man called as Moira's mind slipped into the soft darkness.


	3. Chapter 3: Ireland 1695

Moira woke up to two large green orbs hovering over her. Blinking she realized it was just her Fox. "He hasn't left your bed since he woke up yesterday. Been waiting for you I guess," a gruff voice said, "You both gave us quite a scare. Fell out of the sky like God himself sneezed you out of heaven. Been asleep for nearly three days. Thought you was dead, girlie."

The boy got off of her as she tried to sit up, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. She was tucked into a soft bed with all white sheets and iron head and foot boards. A tray with toast and luke warm tea sat uneaten next to a partially melted, unlit candle stick kept each other company on a chest of drawers next to her. The room was warmly lit by the sunny day leaking through the open window as a breeze soothed her. Than man who had spoken sat in a wooden chair. Long chocolate hair nearly touched his broad shoulders as his grey streaked beard hid the worn lines and wrinkles of his pale scarred face. Unreadable green eyes watched her every breath while she slept. Witch green eyes. They were safe. They had made it.

"You mind telling me your name? It's not every day we have someone fall from the sky," he tried to smile warmly. "Moira," she said quietly. She was still very tired and felt very overwhelmed. "What about the boy? He hasn't spoken a word since he woke up two days ago. Hasn't left your side either for that matter," the man huffed. Moira wasn't sure what to say. She hadn't ever named her brother. He was referred to as 'The boy' by the vampires who took care of them. No, held them captive. She called him her little fox as a nickname. She mumbled out hesitantly, "Fox?" The boy perked up in her lap helping to solidify her quick thinking. It suited him well. "Fox? What a curious name. Well, my name is Silas," The man stood up and offered her his hand to help her out of bed. She felt a little faint, but was well enough to walk. Her little fox grasped her hand tightly as they followed Silas out of the room.

"Aiofe wanted me to bring you to her as soon as you were awake. Plus I think a warm meal will do you both a mercy," Silas chuckled. He brought them to a large dining room where a dozen people sat. Most were women, but all the occupants in the seats had the same green eyes. She felt the now named Fox hug her legs as he hid behind her. "Have a seat," a plump blonde woman ordered. Moira sat. She slowly took in the faces staring at the two of them. One face was familiar. "Margret?" she called out. The woman looked away ignoring her. "Moira, we would like to first a foremost congratulate you on surviving the vampires and welcome you into our home," the plump woman out stretched her arms and a multitude of cakes and sweets appeared on the table as the others began to peck off the magical food. Moira wasn't hungry.

"I was wondering how you got here? You fell from the sky! Then your little friend here was in tatters and healed faster that anyone we have seen and all without a drop of our magic. You gave us quite a scare since you have been asleep for some time now. How did Beatrice do it?" the plump woman blinked, owl eyed and curious. The other guests all whispered amongst each other curious as well.

"Beatrice is dead," Moira said flatly without emotion, "I wrote a spell that transported us here. I call it the Rabbit Hole Spell."

Everyone seemed to be talking louder. Beatrice dead? This small young girl writing her own spells? Impossible! Only a very select number of witches wrote their own spells and many of them died in the process after years of training. This girl must be half-mad. "Your mother died sending both of you here?" the woman gasped. "No. _Our_ mother died months ago. After none of you responded to her pleas of help!" Moira was shaking with anger as well as the silver ware and glossy white plates as her body seemed to pulse with rage and power, "As I said before, I wrote the spell that sent both of us here."

"She truly is mad. The vampires must have driven her insane," a pointy nosed teen age girl cackled. Margret finally spoke up, "Even worse. She is claiming the boy is her brother somehow. I just saw her before she was taken and there is no way she had a second child."

Moira was furious, "Y'calling me a liar?" After all they been through and everyone was speaking as if she wasn't even there. The candles' flame exploded at her outburst catching the pointy nosed girl's sleeve on fire. Moira watched it burn, smiling wickedly. "Stop it!" the pointy faced girl sobbed as everyone sat stunned, not doing anything. Snapping her fingers, Moira turned the sleeve to ice.

All eyes were on her in awe and fear. No one that young should be able to do that. Children her age normally were just barely figuring out basic tricks with the help of an elder. And not multiple spells and manipulating multiple elements at once. Not unless…

The plump woman handed her a glass of water with shaky hands, "Can you freeze the water?" Moira lifted the water out of the glass, formed it into the shape of a flower, froze it mid-air, and dropped it into the glass with a CLINK! Next she handed her a seedling that Moira made bloom into an apple tree. Moira was next instructed to make it cloudy which in her still frustration and rage made it rain outside. "Impossible," Silas gasped behind her, "She is a Spirit."

"A spirit? Like a ghost?" Moira was confused.

"No, nothing like that. Every witch is tied to an element. Where they tap into their magic. Water, Air, Fire and Earth. But there are a rare few, so rare that only one can have the powers of a spirit witch at a time, who can tap into every element as well as have control over the element Spirit," Silas explained, "I control air. My wife Aoife is an Earth." He gestured to the plump woman. Everyone continued to gawk at her, like she was a wild animal.

"And I'm guessing Fox is a fire?" Moira shrugged still trying to take everything in and process it. "The boy? Are you sure he is your brother? Like Margret said, your mother only had one child," Aoife's face twisted into a sour pucker. Moira lifted her little brother on to her lap. "Do the leaf trick with the candle. They really want to see what you can do," she whispered, encouraging him. Fox touched his hand to the candle wick lighting it as everyone sat stunned. He was too young to show any witch abilities. If his eyes didn't confirm he was a witch, then the fire trick did. "But I still don't see how chronologically he could be your brother?" Margret huffed unimpressed.

"Well, this you might all want to sit down and listen up for," Moira stood tall, trying to sound as confident as possible, "Fox is not normal by any means of the imagination. He ages much faster than any human or witch. My mother was not directly killed by the vampires. She died giving birth to Fox, my half-brother. As impossible as it sounds, his father was one of the vampires who captured us. Fox is half witch, half vampire."

Now everyone was yelling and screaming at each other. Impossible! She must be truly mad. We must destroy it, we can't have a vampire's spawn in this house. No, he's one of us. He will kill us, either on accident or on purpose. He will lead all the vampires on us. I don't care.

"SILENCE!" Silas yelled so loud the entire room shook before he calmly asked Moira, "I expect you have proof of this?"

Moira nodded instructing her brother to run to the other side of the room as fast as he could. They watched as he seemed to appear in a flash on the other side, moving too fast for their eyes to trace. They watched as he snapped a spoon in half and scaled the wall like an insect. "Well there is no guarantee he won't be a danger to us or innocent humans," Margret huffed looking down at the sheepish child, who ran back into Moira's lap. "And if I could prove he's not a danger?" she glared at her aunt, who seemed to now find every excuse to hate them and argue with them. "Then we will offer our full protection," Silas gave Margret a pointed glare, putting her in her place.

Moira hopped out of her chair and grabbed Fox's hand as she led him outside. "Are you Thirsty?" she asked softly. He hadn't fed in a couple days and had to heal from a grave injury. He had to be starving. He nodded perking up, feeling the excitement of a potential hunt. The promise of blood. Luckily there were woods bordering the gigantic house they exited. Moira told the witches who had followed them out to wait, as her brother began sniffing the air, trying to track potential prey. He had gotten very good at hunting for such a small child over the last couple weeks. He then took off sprinting after a creature that rustled out of the bushes. "Shouldn't you stop it? What if it hurts someone?" Aoife murmured nervously to her husband. Moira turned to her, sighing impatiently, "I have helped to train him to only hunt animals. He can survive of blood of either humans or animals as well as human food. Can prove it t'ya if ya' ju' give'm five fehking minutes!" She screamed the last sentence, sick of her new family doubting her. She almost missed Avi and Lila. At least they always believed in her and listened to her. The witches were stunned at her brash language. And from such a young lady. _Let them_ , Moira thought.

And without a doubt Fox returned, blood smeared on his face and hands. He dragged a now dead doe, a proof of his kill. "I did it," he smiled proudly as Moira helped clean the blood of his face. "See? He can hunt animals to survive. He isn't a danger to us or humans," Moira. Many of the witches, although disgusted by the Halfling, seemed to relax. "Well he is rather cute if you think about it," one whispered. "He could be useful. Train him to protect us," another pondered. Margret was still not impressed, "Fine, he can stay for now. But if he spills one drop of innocent blood, we will destroy him and anyone who gets in our way." That was okay with Moira. She had won this round.

Their new family eventually warmed up to her and her little brother. He would run around with the other children of the witches. Moira, although still trapped in her small form, no longer found joy in 'play'. She was content to just watch her brother run around, chasing and running away in games of tag and hide and go seek. He was happier here and so was she.

The other witches wanted to know how the Rabbit Hole spell worked. She helped teach them, even if many were difficult students. They hated that she was more powerful than them and a _mere_ child. Moira didn't think she was special. Had they spent the lasts months memorizing and practicing until the candles ran out of wax? No, they only practiced light magic that wouldn't hurt a fly. Useless White magic Moira soon learned. Many of the spells Lila and Avi had her try were Black magic, such as bring the bird back to life. A spell to make people hallucinate. Another to make their heads feel like they were exploding. It all scared the witches how easily Moira took to Black Magic and how she felt no guilt in hurting people. _Maybe I am truly wicked after all_ , Moira mused as Margaret whispered to another witch, whose name was Abagail. The night before Margaret had been eating her humble supper when she suddenly began coughing uncontrollably as something thick and slimy worked its way up her throat. In horror, she screamed as several leeches landed in her beef stew. _Truly wicked._

The only one who helped her practice more useful spells was Silas. He was over five thousand years old and had spent his conditional immortality scouring the globe, learning of many different cultures and their magic which is why he was such a tolerant individual of things that did not coincide with ordinary. He had enjoyed afternoon tea with Chinese dragons, battled god-like Incan Emperors in hand to hand combat in the New World, floated on the backs of crocodiles the size of mansions down the Nile after escaping curses from sandy pyramids, and even shared a supper or two of raw lamb (since he declined on the raw school girls. They would had caused indigestion after all) with Werewolves under a new moon. Rumor had it he had even played chess with the god Hades in his palace of death. He had seen Stonehenge erected and secretly knew the reason the structure had been risen in the first place. He was truly a wondrous individual and an even more extraordinary mentor as he retold and recited the tales of his voyages while stroking his grey ridden brown beard.

Each night the Visions would come creeping into her dreams. Some were happy. Of her hand and hand with a brunette man. Fox a strong young man. Seeing the world outside the oyster of fear and suspicion that was now their life. "Come away with me," Silas offered one day amidst her tutoring. _Come away with me,_ Avi's voice use to echo in her dreams. She knew she would not be here for long.

But some of the Visions would occasionally be frightening. Henri March still hunted them, injured and enraged. He wanted them dead and would scour the world for them. Although she disliked much of her family, she couldn't let them get slaughtered on their account. _Not one drop of innocent blood,_ Margaret routinely warned.

Moira one night woke in a fit of screaming and sweat as she watched Henri March drain every drop of her blood in front of Fox's eyes. She needed to do something, the visions were getting clearer and more frequent. In her white nightgown, she made her way to the stables where she found Silas grooming a gorgeous mare. "I need you to teach me how to kill a vampire," she gasped out, tired from running. Silas smiled, looking at the small girl, entertained by her valour, "There are many ways to kill a vampire. Many ghastly, terrible ways. Are you sure you can stomach them?"

"If it means protecting Fox and the others. I don't see why being a witch is so special if you can't use it to help the people you love," she crossed her arms.

"Have both you and your brother come see me tomorrow night. I have been doing some research of my own on vampires and the existence of half-vampires. This isn't the first case I have heard of it, but I never had the chance to see one for myself so I wasn't sure. I have heard many tales and legends about his kind and I have a couple theories I would like to test out. I think he will make an outstanding ally."

Moira and Fox found Silas at the edge of a trail that lead them through a boundary of trees. He carried a heavy iron lantern and canvas sack filled with many strange, unrecognizable objects. Fox's eyes darted through the dark gloom, accustomed to not ever needing light to see. It was easy to forget that he was a creature of the night. Finally they reached a clearing. Silas set down the lantern and canvas sack slung over his shoulder.

"Over the years I have been searching for ways to arm ourselves against one of our greatest threats. Anything from Hawthorn stakes to iron crosses to silver daggers. While traveling in Eastern Europe, I came across an odd sort of fellow. A young man who looked no older than eighteen, but had the ripe look in his dark brown eyes similar to an old man. He claimed to be an expert at killing vampires. One had been ravaging the village, taking a new victim each week. Until one day he appeared claiming he was this thing called a 'dhampir'. I did not know what it meant at the time. He moved nearly as swift as the demon and fought nearly as strong as such. But bled and broke just as a human, but not nearly as easily. But he had a simple knife. When the blade touched the monster, it hissed and burned. But as soon as the young man stabbed the vampire in the eye, the thing crumpled. I remember the sickening sugary smell as he burned the body. The way the flames turned purple and screamed as if the vampire's dark soul was fighting to escape Hell. The town hailed him as a hero, claiming to make him their new mayor, rich beyond his imagination. He only asked humbly for a fresh set of clothes, a few days' worth of food and a couple night's keep at the local Inn. I had the privilege of speaking with him. He was a secretive fellow, wouldn't share any hints of his origins or past. But he did tell me what the knife was made of."

From the bag, Silas pulled out a knife. "I have made the liberty of adding a few changes."

It was beautiful. Celtic knots were carved into the blade and ebony leather dressed the handle. I reminded her of a blade used in sacrifices. "The young man had coated the blade in the saliva of a werewolf. He said vampire venom also works as well as coating a blade in oil then lighting it on fire. I had coated this one in both vampire and werewolf venom. So careful handling it. One scratch and you never know what terrible creature you may become," Silas warned, "I am going to teach you both how to wield it as well as fight."

Silas began training Fox. Every night he would teach him a new skill. The boy was a fast learner. More coordinated and agile than Silas could imagine. Even without an opponent to practice with, he proved to be a keen fighter. Whether it was teaching him styles he had learned in the Orient, techniques from the jungles of Brazil or even the combat of roman gladiators. And in time the boy learned to also trust Silas. Even in his short life span, a good majority of it had been tainted by the abuse of Henri March, his father, leaving him scared of people. Fox hardly spoke to anyone but Moira. And now Silas. "How was that?" he would ask. He now resembled a nine-year-old, seeking approval from authority figures. He trained hard, fearful as well of the dreaded reunion with his father. Next time, he would not let him hurt him or Moira. He could protect them.

Soon he was taught fencing. Now confident in training Fox, Silas moved their lessons from the secrets of the night to the openness of the day. The witches would watch as Silas drilled him day in and day out. As he trained to protect them. "Maybe allowing him to live was a good idea after all," Aoife shrugged lazily over a cup of tea as the house cleaned itself and pan filled themselves with bread and the kettle boiled before floating over to refill their tea pot.

Moira put as much determination into learning to fight as she did memorizing and learning spells. She learned slower than her brother, but she was also much more limited physically. Her clumsy, slow steps rivaled his swift, deadly and precise movements. Fox was designed to kill, a child of a monster. Moira would watch him break stones with his hands, he crushed the bones of badgers and bears without blinking. Every day he grew stronger before her eyes. At first, she felt frustrated in her lack of ability and strength. "You two are similar, but yet so very different," Silas would remind her. He helped her with her visions. "Breath slowly and open your mind to the possibilities," he would instruct. They often scared her but, she opened herself to the future. Instead of nightmares threatening to invade reality, she could make the happen during the day. She could see the outcomes of many trivial decisions. If the pointy face teenage girl, who she learned was named Myrtle, decided to come and pester Moira as she often had, Moira was able to plan ahead and think of comebacks to Myrtles petty comments. They often held vulgar language, but Moira no longer cared about her family's opinion of her. She honestly could not give a rat's ass about being a proper young lady.

Moira also began to easily see the futures of other people. One day she whimsically told Silas, "She is waiting for you." He looked at her confused, "Who is?" he had over the years acquired many lady-friends and affairs. "A red-haired young woman by the name of Miranda. She has a surprise for you. Important news." Silas suddenly looked very scared. When she asked why, he wouldn't tell her. The next night he disappeared. A note was left saying he would return soon.

"Something's got him in a fright," Fox commented, "I could physically smell the fear in him when you told him that. I hope everything in okay." Moira hated that her gift had caused him pain and fear. Everyone was scared of her and her brother. Even the people closest to her she thought as she played with the necklace that had been her mother's. Even amongst witches and vampires they were still the freaks and outcasts. _At least we will always have each other_ , Moira smiled as she watched Fox practice fencing by himself.

 _Two figures stood facing each other with blood soaked hands. A circle of flames blocked out other's from interfering. One with the murderous red eyes of a vampire, the other with blonde hair with glowed like a halo as lightning exploded around them and a storm raged. The vampire was missing the part of his left arm halfway below the elbow. In its place was a silver hooked stained with blood. She watched as the two of the fought. The vampire's hook catching the other's shoulder, ripping through the flesh of his back. Another slash through his right thigh as blood fueled the fire. He was about to deliver a third, fatal slash to the other's throat as the silver blade fell to the rain soaked grass._ Moira forced herself out of the vision. She couldn't watch. It wasn't enough, it wasn't going to be enough. Fox had no chance against a pure vampire.

When Silas finally returned, he looked like he was in shambles. Dark circles under his eyes and more silver in his beard and hair. He had aged ten years in one week. He barely spoke even when the two children pestered him, asking to share what he had seen during his last trip. He only shook his head, exhausted. "I smell three more people on him," Fox had told her, "A human and two witches." The mystery was left unsolved.

"We need to run, before Henri March finds us," Moira ordered Silas. Every night she dreamed of the man with the blood stained hook. The witched needed to run before it was too late and they were found. This was solidified when she received a letter.

 _Dear Little Lamb,_

 _Fee. Fi. Fo. Fum. I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive, of be he dead. I'll grind his bones to make my bread. Your father smells delicious. He screams, begging for his life. Not for the sake of his wife and babe though. How sad? I would scream and beg too. For my child. Bring him to me or I enjoy feasting on your father dearest._

 _Happily Ever After,_

 _The Captain with a Hook._

And in that letter, was her father's wedding ring. Even though he had forsaken her and her mother, he was still her father. She had to save him. He couldn't die because of them. She needed to stop him from discovering the Witches here in Ireland. But Fox could die because of this. She brought the letter to Silas. "Well I guess it is high time you two were tested," he smiled, "Pack your bags were are going to Loxwood."


End file.
